


Freedom Never Tasted So Good

by FateDriven



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Anxiety, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Dark Comedy, Explicit Language, Gross, Human Experimentation, Mental Instability, Torture, Trager's outbreak! backstory, canon based
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26532529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FateDriven/pseuds/FateDriven
Summary: Richard Trager gets his opportunity to escape patient life at Mount Massive Asylum and boy does he take it...
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Freedom Never Tasted So Good

**Author's Note:**

> There is a serious lack of Richard Trager content and this is my contribution to try and fix that! I've always wondered what was going on during the outbreak at Mount Massive on Rick's end. In this fic, I explore that to the maximum. 
> 
> This is purely for fun! Outlast belongs to Redbarrels and so do all of the characters.  
> Any views mentioned in this work of fiction do not reflect my own. 
> 
> This story is gritty and nasty so good luck, and enjoy!

Never has freedom tasted so good… in this case, it tastes like his face being shoved into the grimy bathroom floor in the hospital wing, but hey, ya take what you can get, right? Richard Trager brushes himself off while the security detail behind him enjoys the view, his knees a little shakier than he would have liked as he sticks out his tongue, finger plucking whatever disgusting debris just found their way into his mouth… including a suspicious hair. He's in a pretty good mood as he pushes himself to his bare feet, hardly glancing over his scarred shoulder at the two men. It’s been a while since he’s been in the ‘GP’ or general population. Exactly a month, in fact. Thirty something days in a padded cell really changes your perspective on life. Throwing smarmy glances with once whole lips still not quite used to their tears, Richard makes his way past the rows of sinks. His smirk doesn’t falter as cracked mirrors cast his reflection back at him. Rick is fully aware of his transformation but hey, it isn’t all bad. His hair is growing back, he notes as unkempt fingernails scratch over his scalp only to tangle in the stringy strands of grey. He always thought he’d look good grey… a silver fox. The drooling guy using the mirror blocks his view with the reflection of his annoyed expression, and Richard takes the hint to move on. Damn, tough crowd. Is no one glad he’s back in action? Well, fuck em’. He’s goddamned elated and that’s all that matters.

This is gonna be his first shower in weeks, the potato sack of a prison uniform he has on practically grown into his skin… what’s left of it. It’s thin and papery now, as if the engine had aged him into something like a walking corpse, and as he pulls his clothes off, the material seems to tear at it. With a small groan and an otherwise confident stretch of his shoulders, Trager steps out of the pile of clothes and into the nearest unoccupied stall. You really have to specify here, some of these little freaks like the company. There are no curtains because no one really gives enough of a shit. Everyone is busy bemoaning their miserable lives or just trying to get the fuck outta there as soon as possible before someone gets any savage urges. A good portion of ‘patient incidents’ occur in the good old locker rooms. He turns on the water with a squeak, forgetting which way to turn it /again/. Why are these things so difficult? Does it really matter? The options are ‘pick up your frozen nipples off the floor’ cold and ‘shiver in utter misery’ cold. Richard settles for a nice taste of misery, jumping out of the way of the water as the first drops spray his body. Just like his clothes, the water irritates his skin. It’s the tenderness of an old wound that never healed properly and it forces a grimace out of him. This is gonna take some getting used to. He can handle it. Richard steps back into the shower, his arms held aloft like a show of peace to the stream of water, being pelted relentlessly again all the same. No water pressure adjustment? Nope. Waste of money. I wonder who thought of that? There’s no soap, so it’s just him and his calloused hands. Carefully wiping the grime away from his body, Trager lets his eye close. It’s almost relaxing in here…

A loud bang of commotion and he’s turned around, the spray hitting his back. For a second there, he thought someone had tried to get cozy with him in the stall. Wouldn’t be the first time… but there’s no one in sight. Richard peaks around the tile barrier just as another clang of what sounded like someone or /something/ knocking things over reaches the bathroom. Everyone is looking now, even the dumb guys in there… the ones that wouldn’t notice if a dump truck drove through a nitroglycerin plant. The security bastards at the door have noticed too, already looking fidgety with their hands on the clubs at their hips. Yelling down the hall causes a few variants, including Rick, to shift out of their stalls. The bathroom begins to fall eerily silent, water at running sinks disappearing, and the squeaks of knobs as showers were turned off. A collective team effort to hear what the fuck is happening outside. Rick slowly reaches back and turns his off, the last splash of water running down the drain being the only sound left.

“We have to get out! Ron! Come on, go!”

The screams of panic in the hall are apparently directed at the security guys that had pushed Rick inside a minute ago.

“What the fuck are you—”

“Something’s gone screwy in the lab! –and I mean seriously fucked not like--...”

Their conversation slowly disappears as the two men join their fellow security detail, not looking back at the guys they were supposed to be keeping an eye on, their footsteps and muffled conversation growing faint as they run. Gee, that was frantic. The lab, huh?

The stillness in the bathroom is haunting, but it doesn’t last long. Seeing their opportunity, the guys around him start making breaks for it in a mass exodus out the door. A few grab towels or some of their clothes. Most bolt and don’t think twice. Rick, moving amongst the hive of people, goes for a towel just as the power fails. The groan and whirring of the dimming lights are nothing compared to the alarms that replace it. Plunged into darkness with the ringing of emergency bells in his ears, Trager's arms hang outstretched for the towel a moment longer before he's slammed into by a moist body, forcing his own aside.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, will ya?” Trager pipes up naturally, talking before thinking and making a push in the direction he remembers the door being.

He can’t see shit. A few clammy encounters later, his shoulders brushing against other guys, clothed and unclothed, he reaches the door, his lungs filling with dry air combined with dust rather than steam mixed with decay. The only form of light in the hall are the red siren-like emergency lights whirring around. It's dizzying, like a nightmarish carnival ride but the thought of change… possibly even some freedom, overpowers all else. Variants scatter in every direction, running and sliding down the halls. Rick has three options… go straight with the limping asshole who’s screaming about an ‘itch’, make a left in the direction the guards had scurried off to, or take a right and follow the horde of half-naked guys already trying to bash each other’s heads in. Richard takes the left hallway, bare feet slick from the shower, almost sliding onto his hands and knees immediately. He really should have thought this through…there’s nothing quite like splinters of wood and fuck knows what else ramming themselves into the bottom of your feet. Erratic banging on what sounds like the pipes above his head and lining the walls distract him from the teeth grinding pain. What the hell is that? The clank is followed by a whoosh of air that causes Trager’s body to shiver. A little drafty around here, but he can deal with that. Already breathing heavier than he’d ever admit, Trager continues to dash down the hall, seeing something other than crimson light to the right of him. The yellow glow seems like his best bet of nabbing some much needed supplies… preferably something to cover his junk. The closer he gets to the room, the more it looks like a shabby office converted into some sort of viewing room for surgery, a large table with a tarp laying on it in the center. Slipping through the torn plastic barrier already slick with blood, Trager puts one foot inside, immediately seeing the shadow that was desperately trying to blend in with a bookshelf. More at ease, Richard fully enters the room, letting out a rattled hum of a chuckle, making sure the guy cowering in the corner knows that he can see him clear as day. Fuck, who couldn’t? Was this guy bullied as a kid for his lousy hide and go seek skills? If he wasn’t, he should have been.

“Hey, you.” Trager rounds the metal table in the middle of the room, grasping the adjustable lamp pointing at it and swinging it around to shine in the guy’s face. Oh-ho. He’s a nurse. They’ve met before. He’s the little fucker that pissed his pants and called security when Richard took control of his own ‘checkup’ a month or so ago. His doctor wasn’t so happy about the results… but that’s what happens when someone shows you up at your own job.

“Oh, god…No. Not- not you.” The man in the nice little nurse’s outfit says softly, eyes wide with fear, an arm already shielding his face.

“Listen, uh--, buddy. I don’t remember your name. Do you—oh…” Richard cuts himself off with a sneer, his eyes squinting at the bloody pool around the guy’s stomach. “That’s your blood, huh?” He half turns, waving mildly at the smears on the plastic. “You /really/ need to get that checked out.” Trager takes a step closer, his focus shifting to the little table close by. There’s still some high-quality instruments over there… jackpot. One particularly nice-looking scalpel is being brandished like a sword by his friend here, he notes.

“Don’t get any closer! I’m warning you!”

Mumbling something in response that even /he/ doesn’t register, Trager looks back and forth between the medical instruments and the nurse. A short sigh. The thought of his first operation being on Mr. sniffles in the corner is tempting… but he can’t stay here. His gut tells him to move on, and Trager’s gut instincts are exactly what made him rich. “Y’know, I’d love to offer you the best medical attention in this dump, but I’m in the middle of moving offices. You know how it is…” Rick reaches behind him feeling the dark green tarp and pulling it off the operating table. “You’re gonna have to schedule an appointment and find me later. It doesn’t look too, uh, horrible…” Trager glances back at the abdomen injury and swears he can see guts poking out. As he pulls the tarp around his front to make something like an apron, the nurse doesn’t speak, looking mildly shocked. His mouth hangs open and the scalpel is still pointed in his direction. Rick snags a loose rope from the pulley system connected to the projector, his back never turned completely as he secures his apron. It’s not long enough to cover his ass, but that’s a price he’s more than willing to pay. Now, for the instruments. Richard sets to plucking them from the table one by one like a poor kid in a candy store, cherishing them a little too much, before tucking them in his makeshift waistband and under his arm.

“Right.” The former executive exclaims, spinning on his heel and heading for the exit. Halfway through the tarp, he turns, having almost entirely forgot about the crumpled form in the corner. “Uh… You can keep that one, buddy.” He points with his free hand, indicating the scalpel. “From what I can tell, you’re gonna need it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Look! You made it!
> 
> Thank you to all of my friends who encouraged me to write this. I wouldn't have done it if it weren't for you guys, and I'm so glad I did. A special thank you to TheCreepingShadow for their insight and badassery. Aspects of their fic, Purgatorium, inspired a particular moment in this chapter. Last but definitely not least, thank you to all the beta readers for their support and wisdom. 
> 
> Chapter two is already in the works...


End file.
